Lost
by LonelyRangerer
Summary: Craig Tucker was your average isolated teenager until his schools forced him to write letters to some weird kid called Tweek. (Rated M for mature language.


p style="text-align: center;"Craig peered around, darting his eyes back and forth. He felt weightless, like a feather. It was a peculiar calming feeling that came upon him. It wasn't new, He knew this was a dream. He observed the sun, the moon, Earth. This was space. The all expansive black void surrounding him, it felt like water. It was so calming and rhythmic. It felt warm, he didn't want to move away from it. A smile spread across his face as he faced the solar system. It was a halcyon like bliss to him, he loved space. The very idea of it was so interesting, I mean, think about the vast amount of creatures surrounding them, everything we know, everything we've felt, made... Amazing! Until it no longer felt warm, it became colder and colder. Then suddenly he wokebr /br / The alarm beeped loudly. The black haired boy groaned loudly; another day of hell. It was cold. Craig didn't want to leave his warm bed. The outside world felt like the fucking Antarctic, when did his bedroom become the fucking Southpole? 'Oh well,' he thought without much thought, to be honest. He rubbed his eyes and brought himself up and out of his bed into the Antarctic known as his bedroom. br /br / He shifted his bedsheets off himself, it was snowing outside, god. He missed his warm abyss in space. His room had been painted a mousy brown. He has scattered posters around the walls of his room. He changed his boxers swiftly. He put on a loose-fitting pair of black jeans, and his prized NASA shirt. Craig never exactly liked the whole, skintight clothes thing. He put a brown leather belt into the small belt holes of his jeans and tied them. He put on his blue jacket and hat. br /br / Craig grudgingly walked to walked to his bathroom to brush his teeth, and fix himself up. He looked like a zombie. His black hair was greasy, pale skin, bags under his brown eyes. He sighed loudly. The Raven splashed himself with cold water and stared at the orange pill bottle beside him. 'LUVOX' it read. He sighed and took a pill. The medication was for depression; For not knowing what's right or fucked up; for not knowing what life is for; For everlasting misery. Craig stepped away, not wanting to look at his reflection any /br / Craig walked downstairs quickly, his golden-brown eyes scanned for any sign of his family. They weren't there. He walked out the door, after grabbing his bag. Rushing to the bus as quick as his legs would humanly let him. He was late. SHIT! He sat next to Stan. Puberty had done wonders to Stan. He had a gorgeous face, beautiful blue eyes, and amazing ash black hair. Stan was tall, about 6'1 maybe? Not as tall as Craig. Craig was a 6'4. Unusually /br /"Kyle's sitting there. His seats reserved. You can't sit there." Stan said /br /em"I don't fucking care,"/em Craig replied, flipping him /br /"Oh no! Did we forget to turn our emotions on again?" Stan said /br / Craig glared at him. He stared right through his soul. Fuck him. Craig walked to the front of the bus and sat there instead. Defeated. He knew if he kept going he'd lose control of his emotions. He could only forget they existed for a brief /br / Kyle stepped in when at the next stop. Craig had to say it, Kyle was adorable. He was short and scrawny, Kyle was feminine, his hair was laying perfectly on his ears in short ginger curls. His eyes were a greeny-golden shade anyone could wish for. He had a cute little jawline, unlike most, his cheekbones were defined, To be honest, most girls looked horrible to Craig. They either had no cheekbones or defined jawline or fuck, even nose. They either faked it and looked like a cheap plastic doll or like someone got the smudge tool in photoshop and smudged everything. But Craig liked girls. Not boys. br /br / Once the school bus finally got to school (took fucking long enough) Craig lamented as he got off the bus. He ducked his head to avoid looking at his old friends from middle school. Craig used to have lots of friends, everyone used to approve him. Now, well, nobody likes him; not even himself. Funnily enough, he couldn't give a fuck about any of them. So it didn't upset him. The first period is English. Ugh. Fuck, why did he choose higher level English? Nobody understands! Not even himself. br /br / He strolled to his locker and grabbed his book, Before heading to class beforehand, bored, as usual. People built up with time, Craig pondered if this is what it'd be like to live in a small town and have it become a big city, people arriving over in groups. He saw his classmates, most from middle school, a few brand-new faces too. br /br / The teacher Mrs. Elliot walked inside too, 'finally,' Craig /She began to speak, and he regretted wanting her to arrive. He sat in the back of the class, the wooden seats were uncomfortable. He rested his head on the table, he recalled the great times he had in middle school when things weren't so hard. When he had friends who he could talk to. When he had good times, Craig would give up everything he had to just play games and smile with his frie-br /br /"Craig Tucker!" Mrs. Elliot yelled at him /br /Craig glanced up suddenly. He blinked several /br /em"Sorry, I fell asleep."/em He said, hoping for a little sympathy. Not that he felt bad, he just didn't wanna get in /br /"Does anybody care to explain what I just said to our little sleepy head over there?" She mocked. 13 students raised their hands. "Kyle Broflovski," she said in a tender voice, she loved Kyle. He was the consummate /br /"Because most teenagers are anti-social, we will be doing a penpal project. Please walk up to the desk to collect your penpal," Kyle answered /br / Mrs. Elliot smiled at Kyle and then looked angerly to Craig. He sighed and walked up to her desk and picked out the last name, 'Tweek Tweak (please don't judge my name I didn't pick it!)' was penned on it, what an unusual name. Tweak. it looked as if the person who wrote it was shivering, despite how small and pretty the handwriting was. He smiled before the void swallowed up all the /br / The Teacher handed out the letters accordingly. He got his letter. Huh. It smelt of coffee and cookies. 'Cute,' he thought cheerfully. it was written with some form of a type /br /strong"March 9th, 1992./strongbr /strongTo whoever has my letter./strongbr /br /strongHello! I'm Tweek Tweak./strongbr /strongI don't really know how to start this letter. Sorry if it sounds super awkward and weird. I'm 15 years old, I live in Iowa. Where do you live? My parents run a coffee shop. My favorite season is fall, My favorite color is green, My friends are nice, although I don't have that many. What are your friends like? /strongbr /br /strongI love coffee! Do you drink coffee? Do you play any instruments? I play the piano. This is slightly strange, I know, but do you have any social disabilities or learning disabilities? I have ADD, you don't gotta answer if you don't wanna! I find it really freaking weird how they're gonna grade our letters! I don't want them reading these, Oh god! /strongbr /br /strongWell, that's all I'm required to write for the first letter, please write back!/strongbr /br /strong /strongTweekstrong Tweak"/strongbr /br / Craig looked at the letter nonchalantly, His golden eyes flashing with confusion. This kid was weird as fuck. Why would he ask about dis-a-fucking-bilities? Craig despised weirdos. He'd respond later, or well now, and finish it later. br /br /em"Hey, weirdo./embr /emMy names Craig Tucker. I'm 15 years old. I go to Southpark High, I live in Colorado. I have Aspergers, (who the fuck asks that) I don't have friends, I don't like them. They won't check our letters here, and they won't put a paragraph limit, therefore. I do what I want, and I'll say what I want. /embr /br /emP.S: No. I hate coffee. I like tea though./embr /br /emP.P.S: We don't know what to say sometimes, it's okay./embr /br /emCraig."/em br /br / He wrote back, pushing the 19 failed letters he wrote before hating them and crumpling them up. He put it in the envelope sloppily and walked out as the bell rang. He was tired so he walked sloppily. Tired beyond belief, god, he had fucking hours left. FUCK! He looked at the dust particles, hoping they'd asphyxiate him, and he could go home early. That medication didn't accomplish its purpose, did it? He'd just have to wait bored as fuck for the end of the day. br /br / Alas, it ultimately came, as it always will. He got on the bus. Stan went home sick. He sat in his seat, (which Stan fucking stole this morning. Fucking Stan!) He sat alone, 'till a cute small short ginger sat next to him. The sky was a beautiful amber, as it's rays of liquid gold spewed through the windows, casting a beautiful color across everything. Kyle's face looked gorgeous in this light, showing his freckles perfectly. He looked like an angel. But he didn't care, all he cared about was watching his Star Wars, again. br /br / When the bus stopped, He got off speedily and ran home. He opened the door with his key. You know that nostalgic feeling you get from the simplest of things? He had that feeling before the void inside his heart swallowed it up. He turned on the blocky tv and put the tape where it had to go, funnily enough, this reminded him of sex. He laughed, like a motherfucking twelve-year-old. He smiled as he slumped back on his /Until he heard another key open... his dad was home, FUCKING SHIT!br / /p  
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